What Could Have Been
by Shay Stark and Raven Rogers
Summary: He loved him. With everything in him, he loved him. With a second chance, he proved it. But not all second chances come out okay. Steve/Bucky. Post movie. Slash.


**Author's Note: Based on my slightlyAU!verse. Contains original characters that do belong to me no matter what you think. I never used to be a big fan of country, but hey, "What Hurts The Most" by Rascal Flatts in a beautiful song, and I think it fits here. This does contain slash, so if you don't like it, quit reading now rather than leaving a mean review and causing unnecessary drama. If you do like it, review, lovelies.**

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**What Could Have Been**

He had been pretending for far too long he was okay, but it was impossible to do when Eric Powers had the eyes of a hawk and the ability to read people like the novels he favored. And he read right through Steve, saw through all of the publicity and the pretending to the pain carried Steve still carried deep in his heart. The pain that still rented him and left him breathless when he remembered that mission. So close to catching Bucky's hand, to pulling him to safety, but he had missed. He had missed. He had not stretched far enough fast enough, and he had watched his friend plummet out of his reach, out of the hands of life and into the jaws of death. All his fault. He was Captain America. He should have been strong enough and fast enough. Should have clasped Bucky's hand firmly in his and pulled him to safety. But he had not. He had let his friend slip away into the cold, and now, seventy years later, he still keenly felt that soul-rending agony.

But the true pain only came when he remembered the last fight Bucky had saved him from. The day when he saw Bucky dressed up in his uniform, preparing to head off to war, and it became real to him that Bucky could die. He was about to walk into war, after all. Until then, though, Steve was wholly convinced Bucky was invincible. Able to catch the interest of any woman he wanted, winning every fight, charming every person in the room while Steve stood quietly behind him and watched it all happen. And then, joining the military, fighting for the country they both loved. Heroic. A true man. The only man Steve had ever truly idolized. The only one he had ever truly loved. The only one who could open him up to see what was inside, and he let Bucky do it every time.

_I can take the rain on the roof of this empty house_

_That don't bother me_

_I can take a few tears now and then_

_And just let them out_

Even now, in a century when it was expected men face their fears about their sexuality and move on, Steve was still skittish about admitting the truth. What would the American people think of him if they knew he was gay? That he was in love with his best friend—The one he had let die? What support would he have if the rest of the team knew behind his front rested a man struggling to make sense of himself rather than the world. It may have changed since he had been frozen, but he had not, and he was fighting every day just to win the various battles between his mind and his heart. Battles over whether to keep forging through each day or to let himself slip in a battle, just once, so he could be with Bucky. Just so he could be held once again.

Real men did not cry, but as he laid down on his bed every night, he found himself muffling sobs and whimpers in his pillow and sneaking the wet case out every morning. How could he let the others know what was wrong with him? None of them could ever understand. Tony was a playboy without a true heart—not counting the reactor, which Steve did not—and Bruce was so removed from most of the world and emotion it would be unwise to bring it up to him. And then Thor. The demigod had never been in love except for Jane, and with the way he was brought up, Steve doubted he would understand. Clint would. Just seeing the looks the hawkeyed mercenary sent in Coulson's direction every time they saw each other was enough to tell Steve his friend would understand. But every time he wanted to bring it up, his tongue tied itself into a knot, and his feelings stayed firmly hidden in his heart. Hidden away like precious treasures no one else could see.

The only person who it would have been beneficial to tell was long gone. Bucky. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. It was hard for Steve to remember days when he and Bucky were not together, at a bar or walking down the street or seeing a movie or just hanging out. They were orphans, birds of a feather though entirely different, and Bucky took care of him when he needed it. Sat up with him when he felt troubled. Nursed him well the time he had caught pneumonia and was sure he was going to die from it because of how fragile his body and how weak his immune system. Bucky had been there to encourage him, to drape an arm across his shoulders and tell him it would all be all right, but how could it be all right? He was in a new century, a new _millennium_ for that matter, but the most confusing thing was not the technology or the slang or the commonplace use of vulgar language. It was walking down once-familiar streets alone, remembering a time when people used to joke he was attached to the hip with another man, when he _wanted_ to be attached to another man. When he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Bucky's arms and never come back to the real world.

_I'm not afraid to cry every once in a while_

_Even though going on with you gone_

_Still upsets me_

When Tony had insisted they watch _Brokeback Mountain_ of all things, Steve had had no problem with the film. It was cliché but romantic, dramatic in all of the right places, and it made more than a few of them cry by the end of it. Eric and Shawn had been downright bawling. But Steve had sat there, paralyzed, not understanding as the tears tumbled down his cheeks and onto his shirt. Not understanding why love had to be destroyed when it was clearly love, why the gods that existed let it fall into disuse and seemed to punish those who held it in high regard. Then the pain, raw and fresh, washed over him in a wave, and he had been sobbing in his seat, shaking from the force of it, and that had stopped everyone else's tears. Instead, they gathered around him, rubbing his back, trying to console him because none of them understood why the film hurt him so much. No one understood how a concept of love lost could shred him open.

But Eric had, damn it. Had sat up with him that night in a conference room with three boxes of Kleenex and pushed him through every aching word until he could barely speak through the tears. And why? What closure could he hope to gain when the only person he had ever loved was dead? All it did was rip open every scar, creating fresh wounds that gushed anguished and made him drown in it. The only positive aspect of the whole evening was that it was finally out, finally no longer a guarded secret, and Eric was not laughing at him or backing away from him or rolling his eyes. The time traveler comforted him and handed him Kleenex and held him until he thought his heart would burst from his chest. And when it was over, Eric helped him to bed.

He wanted to be alone, to wrap himself in his blankets and just pretend the rest of the world no longer existed. Wanted to be as free as Eric and Tony, find a man to hold him for the night, one he could pretend was Bucky. Wanted to close his eyes and feel warm and safe again no matter what it took, but he never could. Even on the bright days, when everything went just right and the rest of the team was in a good mood and everyone was getting along, he was reminded of some aimless evening he had spent with Bucky, and he lost control.

_There are days every now and again_

_I pretend I'm okay_

_But that's not what gets me_

There was no life in drudging through every day, in watching the other members of their household find happiness, or fight for it, when he could do nothing to find his. He sat and watched Thor struggle to locate Jane, only to have those hopes dashed, and watched the demigod return to Asgard to regroup. Watched Eric write sappily romantic sonnets and songs and slide them under Tony's door or sit outside of Tony's door and sing, strumming the battered acoustic guitar he loved so much. Watched Shawn and Bruce cast each other shy and playful glances during meals because both of them were too reserved to come right out and say they wanted each other. Watched Clint and Coulson grow closer as autumn faded gradually into winter, and winter brought more pain. It had been winter when he lost Bucky. It had been the season they used to love because of the crisp air and the fresh, clean snow and the way they felt even closer because they were all each other had.

Christmas came, and he dragged himself downstairs despite his sour mood because Tasha insisted he needed to be with them. They were a team and a family, and no matter what happened to one of them, they would all be there for support. And they were. They all sat around the tree, handing out presents and trading stories of past holidays, antics performed to spice up what could become a vanilla day if not taken proper care of. Eric and tales of lighting mistletoe aflame from a distance during one of his father's grand Christmas parties while Shawn created little puddles everyone slipped and tripped in. Tony ditching the house during Christmas because he hated the parties and spending them with Rhodey, drinking and staring at the stars and wondering if anything was out there. Bruce completely forgetting the holiday existed because he was so busy with work he missed it altogether. Clint trying to shoot mistletoe down from a distance to scare people. All such happy, playful stories. But he contributed nothing, not wanting to dredge up Bucky's face, his voice, his memory. His dark, playful eyes and the way his lips were always titled into a slight smile.

He replayed the night he had saved Bucky from Hydra over and over again, the way his best friend had been strapped down, near death. The way Bucky had stared at him in wonder when he saw the changes the serum had induced. How, when it seemed clear there would be no way he could join Bucky in escaping, his friend refused to leave without him.

_What hurts the most is being so close_

_And having so much to say_

_And watching you walk away_

And because he was too stubborn to admit there might be other men better suited to join him in taking down Hydra, he convinced Bucky to join him. Convinced his best friend, his brother in arms, the man he loved so desperately it hurt, to join him in combat. It was him who brought Bucky back onto the battlefield after he had suffered, him who led Bucky to the train. Him who let Bucky die. All him. All his fault. No matter what well-meant words Eric mumbled when he found Steve falling apart, Steve knew it was his fault. He never told Bucky he loved him. Never said a word. And Bucky had saved him numerous times when they were taking down weapons facilities, but instead of thanking him, he had let it blow over and decided to bring it up later.

But then, he had a second chance. He had a second chance when Tony Stark had busted into his bedroom at three in the morning, demanding to know where in the hell Eric was and why the time traveler's room was full of empty Coke bottles, liquor bottles, and candy bar wrappers. Why the kid was time traveling that early in the morning and why he had a map of the route the train had been on the day Bucky died. Why the kid was missing and it looked a hell of a lot like he was planning a last-minute rescue mission "out of the blue" and "with no warning" to any of them.

_And never knowing what could have been_

_And not seeing that loving you_

_Was what I was trying to do_

Steve did not understand, could not wrap his mind around the fact Eric was going to try something so incredibly stupid and dangerous. Traversing a frozen tundra, half-drunk because at least half of the alcohol he had ingested would be dragged out of his system by the jump, waiting for someone to fall on him. And then, assuming he was still drunk enough to jump back, bringing back someone. A person. Something he had never attempted because it was dangerous and could get him and who he tried to bring back killed. But Eric was gone, it was too late to convince him, and all Steve could do was sit in bed and shake and hope he had not gotten another perfectly good man killed. Because, if he had, he was going to find a way to take his life no matter what he had to try to get it right.

An hour passed with no sign of the playful traveler, and the entire house was up, waiting for him to come back home. Shawn and Bruce with their arms wrapped around each other because Shawn could only teleport, he could not jump back in time to find Eric and had no way of reaching his mind and Bruce just wanted to help. Tony pacing and raging and yelling so loudly Steve's ears rang with it as he sat on the couch and waited. Clint trying to calm Tony down from the safety of Coulson's arms because he did not want to get near Tony when he was raging. Jarvis's calm voice trying to soothe Tony with percentages and proof that Eric's jumps are nearly one hundred percent perfect now that he had been practicing his craft. And as the second hour dragged on, Steve started to cry again because he knew Eric was dead, and it was his fault, and they could not even retrieve the body because it was lost seventy years in the past, and he hated himself, _hated_ himself for not telling Bucky the truth, and—

And then Eric was there, flopped across the carpet, clothes and hair damp, and there was another slightly taller, darker-skinned man with him. Neither of them moved, both of them unconscious, but in that moment, Steve dared to hope. Dared to believe in the spastic time traveler who made purple pancakes and sang sappy country love songs late at night. Dared to believe the pain was over.

_It's hard to deal with the pain of losing you_

_Everywhere I go, but I'm doing it_

_It's hard to force that smile when I see_

_Our old friends and I'm alone_

Bruce called the medics assigned to wait for their calls and had them check both Eric and Bucky out, but from what they could see, the two were fine. Eric woke with a splitting headache and a loud, obnoxious groan that startled everyone out of their seats, and then they all laughed. Because it was such an Eric thing to wake up pissed off because of a headache when he had just pulled off a miracle. But Bucky woke up quietly, a bemused smile on his lips, eyes saying he did not know where he was, but when that honeyed chocolate gaze met Steve's, confusion and uncertainty melted away into love. Into trust. Into happiness. And Steve was crying all over again and clinging to him and spitting out the truth between sobs, which only caused more confusion, but Bucky was holding him and so it was okay. He held Bucky and Bucky held him and the pain and fear and uncertainly faded away for just a moment, and they were as they had been and so much more. Reunited and together, and it was all okay.

Once it was clear both Bucky and Eric were safe to go back home, Tony turned into a mother hen and started taking extravagant care of him while Steve slowly told Bucky the truth. About Eric's powers and the train and the seventy year space between their time and the current one. And he showed Bucky how to live in the twenty-first century. Showed him cell phones and credit cards and the wonders of Netflix, and they fell back into their old rhythm. Seeing movies in 3-D, which scared the hell out of Bucky at first, then excited him when they started seeing action movies. They stayed up late, watching stupid comedy shows and laughing and eating popcorn. It was Eric's suggestion they give _Brokeback Mountain_ a try since it was such a hit with the rest of the team, and Steve agreed to try.

After all, he owed Eric a hefty debt for somehow managing to catch Bucky when he fell and bring him to the present. He was sure he would never be able to repay it.

_Still harder, getting up, getting dressed_

_Living with this regret_

_But I know if I could do it over_

As he expected, Steve cried at the end again, but watching the silent tears trail down Bucky's face when the credits rolled shocked him most of all. He had never seen Bucky cry, not over anything, and yet his best friend was quietly wiping tears off of his cheeks and admitting the movie was one of the most emotional he had seen. And then their eyes locked, glossed with tears, breaths stuttering, and then their lips were one. Steve had never kissed anyone. Had never had that dance he promised Peggy. But he had Bucky, so much better, so much stronger, so much his, and he let his emotions flow over in another wave of tears and clung to the handsome man and kissed until he could barely breathe through the agony of finally having what he so desperately wanted.

He barely remembered what had happened between the kissing and the moment when their clothes were off and they were in his room. His legs were spread, thighs quivering, eyes squeezed shut and breath coming in rapid pants while Bucky stroked him open, stretched him open, eyes dazed with passion, whispered soft, warm words down to him. And Steve loved it, loved every moment of finally throwing away the rough exterior he showed the world. He was trembling like a little flower in the harsh winter wind, and Bucky was the warm hands gently cupping around him to keep him from being ripped and torn away. So he opened himself, opened up the most tender and vulnerable part of himself, and Bucky nurtured it and loved him. And when their bodies were wedded together, Steve cried again and kissed Bucky through the teas and saw them mirrored in his friend's, his _lover's_, eyes. It was magical and perfect and everything he had wanted, having Bucky close, holding him, loving him.

Being close to Bucky. Behind held by Bucky. Being loved by Bucky. He finally had one night of sleep, locked in Bucky's arms, his face buried in the other man's chest, wrapped in perfection.

_I would trade_

_Give away all the words that I saved_

_In my heart that I left unspoken_

Morning dawned with violently angry phone calls from Fury; apparently, Eric had crawled out of bed around midnight to launch an attack mission against S.H.I.E.L.D. and had lit several cars aflame before returning home to sleep. But Steve could not care less the time traveler was finding unique ways to enjoy himself. He awoke in Bucky's arms, eyes full of the sight of toned, tanned chest as soft lips danced across the top of his head. It was a new sensation, behind held, being loved, having the top of his head kissed while his aching lower body reminded him of the night before.

Of course, the team was called in that afternoon. Not because Eric had burnt some rolling iron but because Loki had appeared on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doorstep searching for sanctuary. Broken, beaten, bleeding, and utterly alone. With a child in his arms. And of course, Eric had to be the valiant if slightly exhausted gentleman who volunteered to take him in when Fury expressed a desire to imprison Loki once again. And though Steve did not understand why, he stood and spoke in Loki's defense, and the rest of the team slowly followed suit until it was clear there would be a fight if the demigod was incarcerated once again. Bucky sat by and watched quietly, digesting the situation, but scowled at Fury when the man tried to approach him. Wise man. Knew better than to trust the man in the black leather coat and the eye patch. But Steve loved him fiercely for it, for instinctively knowing there was something about Fury that could not be trusted and being smart enough to stay away from him.

While the others tried to get Loki situated in Eric's apartment, Steve drew Bucky back to his room, and they laid in each other's arms and kissed. It was magic. It was beauty. It was a dream come true. And when Bucky said the only three words Steve had ever wanted him to, the brave, heroic Captain America wept again because it was just too good to be true.

_But what hurts the most_

_Is being so close_

_And having so much to say_

_And watching you walk away_

They held hands as they walked down the street, and only rarely did someone give them a foul look for expressing their love in such a way. At a café in the city, the bubbly waitress, upon finding out they were together, gushed over how cute she thought it was. Most people did not care. Two men being in love did not matter to people who were busy living their lives, and Steve loved the fact he could stand close to Bucky or steal a kiss or lean close to whisper a soft word without everyone sending him a nasty look for him. It was one thing about the twenty-first century he liked.

In the movie theatres, they sat close together, pushing up the arm rest between them so Bucky could snake an arm around Steve's waist. If they happened upon a horror movie, Steve saw no problem with hiding his face in Bucky's shoulder during the scarier parts, smiling sheepishly when soft lips brushed his ear to tell him the scary part was over. If they were in the bathroom washing their hands at the same time, they splashed each other and fought over the automated dryers, and the other men in the restroom either rolled their eyes or laughed it off as they left. It was nothing to sneer at, nothing to despise in a time when people realized trying to tell someone who they could and could not love only made life worse for everyone involved. They went to the park just to have something to do and kissed under a tree, breaking up only when a couple of little girls playing with a soccer ball come upon them and start giggling like mad. And soon, Bucky wanted to come on missions. And Steve _let_ him.

It was on a routine mission when Steve nearly thought he was about to lose everything he had gained. So little yet so much nearly obliterated because of a mistake he made. Not paying attention to his lover, his best friend, his boyfriend. Not remembering the tragic lesson Tony had to learn about mortals who stepped in front of loaded guns to protect the ones they loved.

_And never knowing_

_What could have been_

_And not seeing that loving you_

_Is what I was trying to do_

Two shots to the chest, on the fringe of death, and it was Bruce who made the suggestion to try the reworked serum to see if it could save Bucky. Reworked a million times, but since Tony and Bruce had both been working on it and there was no other option, Steve signed off on the forms and waited to see if it would work. And it did, to an extent, but the damage to Bucky's body was still fatal, and he was still certain he was going to lose his love. It was Shawn and Eric who managed to find another serum, one he had never seen, never heard of, and injected it into Bucky while Steve slept beside him. When he awoke, Bucky was taller, buffer, and sitting up straight with nothing to show he had ever been hurt except for a little mild scarring. It was so much of a reminder of when Eric had been shot the time traveler was dragged into the room to explain, and he did. Haltingly. Another shot, another serum, another chance at life, and damned if he was going to say any more.

But Steve understood and did not ask, only thanked the gods and his friends and the doctors and everyone who had contributed to saving Bucky's life yet again. He refused to attend a mission for the next week, leaving Tony in charge, and sat at home with Bucky, watching Eric try to tease information out of Loki while the quiet demigod played with the child he claimed was his son. Believable enough, seeing as the child, named Jormungandr and affectionately called Jorry by the team, had Loki's dark hair and emerald eyes and fair, fair skin. The boy was as quiet and reserved as Loki, clinging to Loki's side at every opportunity and shyly hiding from everyone unless they knelt and reassured him and beckoned him out to say hello.

And Steve wondered, quietly, to himself, if he and Bucky would ever have a child. If they would be able to find a way to bring the love they shared with each other to a child.

_What hurts the most_

_Is being so close_

_And having so much to say_

_And watching you walk away_

Every night, he fell asleep in Bucky's arms and woke up just the same, in a slightly different position, tangled in the sheets, hair mussed from sleep and sex. He had been shy and reserved about sex at first, but Bucky never had been, and slowly, all of his barriers fell away at the brush of Bucky's warm hands or soft lips, and he gave Bucky everything. They took turns baring each other's most intimate skin, kissed until it was hard to breathe and left telling bruises all over each other. It was a beautiful week. Mornings spent waking up to lips feathering his hair with kisses, sharing the shower which was thankfully large enough to accommodate their serum-enhanced physiques, making breakfast and feeding it to each other, much to the annoyance and irritation of both Eric and Shawn, who were dealing with their own sexual frustrations. And every night, falling into each other's arms until it was impossible to keep their eyes open from the pure exhaustion.

But the more he watched Loki and Jorry, the more he wanted a child to hold, to take care of, one who would be half of him and half of Bucky. Impossible, of course, but he wanted it. Hoped for it fiercely. But who could he ask? Who could he tell his deepest desire to? He ended up whispering it to the demigod while Loki was tucking Jorry into bed, and the demigod answered his unspoken prayers. Some sort of Jotun potion, nasty on his tongue and bitter in his throat, and oh God, it made his stomach ache, and then he was feverish and wanting and wrapped around Bucky for hours until neither of them could move. He needed sex, needed to be taken, to be pressed into the sheets and stroked and loved until he could not see straight for days.

Then he got sick. His immune system was improved by the serum, and so he should not be sick, but he was hunched over the toiler vomiting a few weeks later. And he knew it had worked. In the back of his mind, he knew it had worked. The potion he had not believed would work had done its job, and he pressed a hand to his stomach and promised himself he would find a way to repay Loki for this gift. But when he told Bucky about it, expecting his partner to be as thrilled as he was, he was met with disbelief, then cold resistance, then hot anger. And then, Bucky left.

_And never knowing_

_What could have been_

_And not seeing that loving you_

_Is what I was trying to do_

How could he have been stupid enough to assume Bucky would want a child with him, a permanent reminder of the shameful acts they had shared? And they were shameful. Shameful because he was an ignorant, stupid _kid_ and Bucky had never loved him, never planned to stick around for more than a year, and now he was pregnant. Pregnant. A child was growing inside of him, courtesy of Loki's potion and what he thought was an act of love, and he was alone again. It was worse than before, though, because he had always entertained the belief Bucky would have loved him back if only he had said the words. But he had said them, a million times, and when Bucky said them back, he believed them. Foolishly. Believed them because he needed to hear them, and then it was all over.

He found pain anew but forced himself to live because, though he had given up on all hopes of the love his friends were trying so desperately to find. Instead, he cemented his future on the child growing inside of him, the only physical proof Bucky had ever even pretended to love him. He had nothing else. Tony proved to be a somewhat passable leader for the Avengers, and if he fell through, Clint or Tasha picked up the slack until they were all where they needed to be, and it was a relief to know that. Because Steve was done with them. With the world. With the Avengers. With being a superhero. He wanted to keep the last shreds of goodness inside of himself unadulterated with violence and hatred, and so he dedicated himself to the baby he had always wanted. He wanted to raise his child. Nothing else. No one else. He was too afraid to open himself up to another knowing how crushing the pain could be when it came. And it always did. He had seen that.

_Not seeing that loving you_

_That's what I was trying to do_

No matter what obstacles came, he would be a good father—mother. An excellent one. One who was there to kiss the tears away and bandage the scrapes. One who would wrap his child in his arms when the nightmares came and sing his child to sleep, then stay up all night because he was busy waiting for the next nightmare to come. One who protected his child from all of the evils of the world. And if he had to give up the Avengers, he would do that. If he had to give up Captain America, he would do _that_. Because, when compared to a child, none of that seemed important.

Nothing was important to him anymore. What could have been was now what never happened. But what would be… That was a future he found himself wanting to discover.


End file.
